


Memories

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 00:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: A series of memories play in Dean’s mind as death claims him.





	Memories

It doesn’t hurt anymore. He can feel the hot wet sluicing out from the gashes to the slowing beat of his heart, but there’s no pain. There’s no fear.

Just…peace.

Dean knows he’s dying, feels the calming fog of it settle behind his unblinking eyes as Sam’s screams fade into nothing. He remembers reading something about your life flashing before your eyes right before you die. Or maybe it was behind your eyes? He doesn’t remember. He just knows the truth of it when he catches a glimpse of a long white nightgown and flowing blonde hair. Kind smile.

“Mom?” He tries to say, but there’s no sound; lips frozen as death begins to cool his blood. A hand ruffles his hair.

 _“Goodnight, baby.”_ It’s just a whisper, but it’s still a melody to his ears.  _“Angels are watching over you.”_

_*_

The gun’s heavy in his small hands, a little scary, and the boom is deafening when he pulls the trigger. The bottle explodes, brown glass bursting into shining shards over the fence. Again and again he shoots, again and again the targets shatter. When he lowers the gun and thumbs the safety back on, he looks up to see his dad smiling so proud, smiling at  _him_.

_“You did good, son.”_

_*_

Cartoons softly play on the old analog television. Sam’s seated at the kitchen table; chubby cheeks and chestnut curls. What is he? Four, five maybe? Dean’s pouring cereal. He’s hungry. So hungry. But Sam needs to eat. He has to take care of Sam.

*

It’s the Christmas of 1991. Broken Bow, Nebraska. Dean’s holding the amulet in his palm. He feels warm; happy. He didn’t want to accept it - it was meant for Dad, but Dad isn’t here. And the look on his baby brother’s face…

_“Thank you, Sammy. I…I love it.”_

_*_

It’s a late spring afternoon and Sam’s behind the wheel of the Impala, white-knuckled and stiff as a board. Dean’s riding shotgun, hands anxiously rubbing his thighs as he gives the driving lesson.

_“Ease down on the gas…lighten your foot…and relax. Yeah - see?”_

Sam takes a breath as his shoulders drop, palms shifting over the steering wheel.

_“This is actually kinda fun.”_

_*_

Sam’s going to college. Dean’s crushed, of course, but he’s happy for him. He deserves this. Always was too smart for the life of a hunter anyway. Dad’s fuming though, told him not to come back. Dean can feel the break in his chest when Sam slams the door.

*

Stanford, 2005. Sam’s done well. Pretty girlfriend. On his way to law school. Dean feels the guilt coiled around him, but he talks right through it.

_“Dad’s on a hunting trip…”_

_*_

It’s mid-morning as the Impala roars down the open highway. The Doors are playing low on the tape deck. There’s a case, but Dean can’t think of what it is because for some reason…it just doesn’t matter. He cracks a joke, eyes immediately flitting over to watch his brother’s face melt into a reluctant smile.

That smile is the last thing Dean sees before he wakes up screaming, meat hooks piercing white-hot through flesh and muscle.


End file.
